


Wonderwall

by stayshinygirl



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayshinygirl/pseuds/stayshinygirl
Summary: He only was in the wrong place at the wrong moment. He swears, he didn't do it. But nobody seems to believe him. Not even her. The woman who hates him the most in the entire world. And the woman he's in love with.





	1. Chapter 1

He never believed in fate, or destiny, or whatever people kept saying about how everything in everyone’s life was already planned and scripted and they were only pawns sent to the Earth to live those designed and meaningless lives.

But he did believe in luck.

And he has never been a lucky guy.

Not even now, not ever.

He doesn't want to open his eyes. He knows that when he does it, he’ll have to accept the fact that his life is over, that they are going to take it away only because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Only because there’s an instinct that has always the best of him when he sees someone in danger and he just can’t help himself but try to help. But he should have minded his own business. At least this time. At least in that dirty and smelly bar.

That was the first mistake. Going to that bar. He always hated Los Angeles and its fancy restaurants and he really needed to find a place less… rich, less elegant. And he had found it. In a dark alley, away from the big and famous streets of that enormous but suffocating city.

He should have stayed at home. But his house was already… occupied. By his wife. And a man that wasn't _him_. And now that he thinks about it, he feels like she wanted him to find out. Because she knew he was going to be back home that night and yet, she was there, on their bed, with another man’s dick deep buried inside of her.

Anger was the last thing he had felt. Betrayal, disgust maybe, but not anger. He hadn’t made a big scene. He had just looked at them for a moment before walking towards his wardrobe to take two shirts and a pair of jeans. He had put everything in a bag and ignored the couple, still naked and frozen in place on the mattress. He had just smiled weakly in his wife’s direction. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning and I want you gone.”

But it’s almost morning and he’s not back at home.

And he thinks he won’t be for long.

 

  
It’s never easy to tell someone they just lost their husband, or wife, or sibling, especially when they open the door of their house with a sleeping baby in their arms. Sometimes he feels like this is not the right job, not for him at least. He’s too sensitive, and he only needs a moment to get involved in someone else’s pain. And he already knows that it’s going to happen even now, with this young woman and her little kid.

It’s five am and the blonde’s eyes are wide open, clearly scared of the stranger who’s standing in front of her door. Totally comprehensible.

“Detective Montgomery, LAPD”, he shows her his badge and she winces in front of his studying gaze. “Can I come inside?”

The woman stares at him and at the officer beside him. “What…”, her voice is feeble and he has to take a step towards her to hear what she is trying to say. “What happened?”

The typical question. Every time a door opens in front of his badge, he already knows what he has to say next. Because the question that waits for his response is always the same one. Because this is how the brain works. A cop in front of your door means that something bad happened. And automatically all the senses are obfuscated by fear and curiosity in front of a badge. And he can easily see the woman’s fear dancing in her brown eyes. Damn, he can even smell it. This woman is scared.

“Gwen Rossdale?”

She takes a step back and covers the baby’s belly with a shaking hand. “I… it’s Stefani. My husband… I didn't take his last name.”

The detective nods and waits. He recognizes this process too. She’s avoiding the topic, postponing the questions as long as she can. But it’s late, and he has work to do.

“We really need to talk and it would be better if we did it inside”, he explains quickly, caressing his curated mustache with gentle fingers.

She follows the movements with her eyes before nodding. “Just… okay, yes.”

The blonde woman lets them enter and shuts the door behind her. She closes her eyes for a moment before opening them again and staring at her son, his little face relaxed in a peaceful sleep. She lays a kiss on his forehead and inhales his baby scent. “Everything is okay, baby boy. Momma’s here.”

The cops are waiting for her in front of the sofa, their eyes are studying the house and she rushes towards the crib in the big room, where she lays her son after leaving another long and sweet kiss on his warm skin.

“What… why are you here?”

The question startles the detective who slowly turns around to look at her. “Why don't you sit, Mrs. Stefani?”

She nods because honestly, she doesn't feel like saying no to anything that a cop says. Her hands are shaking and she tries to hide them in her lap without any success. The detective’s eyes are pointed on her and she’s sure he’s not missing a single movement. “It’s about your husband”, he starts, sitting in front of her and taking a deep breath. “There has been a shooting. At a bar downtown. And your husband…”

Gwen gasps interrupting him. “Gavin”, she brings a hand in front of her mouth, “is he okay?”

Roy Montgomery takes a deep breath, looks at her and shakes his head. It should be easy. He’s done this a million times by now. But it’s not easy. It will never be.

He sees the woman realize what he is trying to tell her and the news hit her hard, breaking her in front of his sight. He sees every kind of emotions go through her eyes. He sees the pain, the shock, the concern. It’s everything there, a few centimeters away from him. And he can’t do anything but look at her sob and burst into tears on the big sofa.

“Mike, look for the kitchen and bring me a glass of water, please.”

The young officer does as he asked and he exhales deeply. “Mrs. Stefani… I’m sorry for your loss.”

He hates saying it. But he has to. It’s the only good thing he can say in situations like this one. But it’s useless. And he knows it for experience. He knows the woman only needs silence and privacy. She doesn't need meaningless words said by a perfect stranger. But he needs informations. And he needs the story. Because catching someone with a gun in their hands is not enough for him. He needs to know why. He needs to know how. He needs the pieces of the puzzle to fit. He needs to do justice.

“I…”, she tries to say something but he really can’t understand. The words are muffled by the sobs and the hand that is trying to cover them.

The officer comes back with a glass of water and he holds it to the woman. She takes it and bends her head to thank the man but doesn't drink. She just stares at the water while more big drops run through her wet cheeks.

“We need some information”, the detective says suddenly and she nods, still not looking at him. “Were you here around two am this morning?”

She finally lifts her gaze, her red eyes wide open. “Do you think it was me?”

Roy Montgomery shakes his head and takes a little notebook from his pocket. “No, Mrs. But these questions are compulsory. Listen, I know it’s hard. I’ve been there, on the other side. And everything I’m going to say will sound stupid and rude to you. But I’m here to do my job. And I need you to help me understand what happened to your husband and why.”

Gwen nods and passes a hand through her blonde hair. “I- I was here”, she murmurs and looks at the cop while he writes something down. “My husband… he- he said he had work to do. He was writing a new album, I suppose. But… but I guess that wasn’t the truth?”

One of the first things he learned at the academy was to always say the truth, even when it hurts too much. “Did you know about your husband's affair?”

The woman winces but her face doesn't show any new emotion. “I knew.” Montgomery nods and waits for more, because he knows she has to say more. He can feel it. “I’ve known for a while. I found some messages but I decided to let it go. It happened one year after our marriage. And I hoped with all my heart that he had stopped, I really did. But he hadn’t. And I… I decided to leave, I was ready to leave. But I got pregnant. And… Detective, Gavin may not be the best husband, I know, but he is a good man. And I love him. L- Loved.”

Here it is. The use of the past. The realization that her husband isn’t alive anymore. Montgomery was waiting for it. “I understand”, he says and the woman smiles sadly. “Did you know the… his friend?”

Gwen shakes her head and the detective keeps writing. “Was him with her? Last night? At the bar?”

“No, but we found some messages on his phone. He was with her before going to the bar.”

“Detective, can you please, please, tell me what happened?”

Her question is full of exasperation and the man sighs deeply. “A man has been caught, he still had the gun in his hands when the police arrived at the bar. He won’t talk. But we found out he is married to the woman who used to sleep with your husband.”

“Why the questions, then? D- Did you arrest him?”

“We did. But I need some answers, like I already said.”

The absurdity of the night makes her head spin and her heart ache. It’s half past five in the morning and a detective with weird mustache just told her that Gavin is dead. That she doesn't have a husband anymore. That her son doesn't have a father anymore.

This is all her fault. She let him cheat on her for years. And he had met someone who wasn't happy with his continue sleeping around with married women. She can’t feel relieved. She would never feel happy that her husband is dead. She loved him with all her self. But there’s a thought in the remotest drawer of her mind that keeps reminding her that it was his own fault if that man killed him. That he could have kept his dick in his pants at least once in his life. But no. Nothing has ever stopped him from sleeping around. Not her, not their kid. Because he wanted more. More than her. More than his jobless and useless wife, or at least that’s what he used to called her like.

And she believed him.

She should have never stopped singing. But she had done it for him. Because he needed to focus on his career and he didn't want hers to hinder his plans. She had to stay at home and take care of things, take care of their house, of the kids they were going to have. And she had done it, she had done as he asked, she had left her band, the only thing that has ever made her feel proud in entire life, and had started to be what he wanted her to be. A wife. Nothing more.

“Mrs. Stefani?”

“I think I need to stay alone, right now.”

Roy Montgomery bends his head a little and takes another deep, rough breath. “Have you ever seen a killer? Have you ever looked at a man in the eyes and thought ‘yes, this is the man I was looking for, this is a man who had the courage to take someone else’s life away’?” The woman shakes her head. “Well, I have. So many times I don’t even remember them all. But not tonight. No. I put a man behind the bars tonight, _I had the courage to take his life away_. And for the first time in my entire life, I felt guilty. You may think I’m crazy. You may think your husband deserves another cop who investigates about his death. But I trust my instinct. It never betrayed me, never, not even once in almost forty years of career.”

Gwen’s bottom lip is swollen under her teeth. “I- I don’t understand.”

“You’ll feel anger. Tomorrow morning, you’ll wake up and realize that your husband is really dead and that someone really killed him. And you’ll want to see that man die as well. It doesn't matter if you were close or distant to your husband, you’ll hate the man accused of his homicide with all your heart. And you’ll also want to put an end to this story as soon as you can. But I’m asking you for time. Give me a week. Only a week. And I’ll put behind the bars the right man.”

She is so confused, oh, nothing makes sense right now. The man is looking at her, his brown eyes severe, deep. And she knows he is right. She already feels something towards the man who… who did it. But she also feels… she doesn't know how to explain it. A man’s life is in her hands right now. Is that right? But damn it, he is a killer.

“He killed my husband!”, she snaps, her eyes full of tears once again. “He doesn't deserve a week. He deserves to stay in jail.”

Another long, deep sigh. “I understand. I had to try. You should come to the precinct first thing in the morning. There are some papers that need to be signed. And we need to have the confirmation of identity. He had the documents on him but it’s always better to check with someone who was close to him.”

Her stomach is not empty enough to be okay after hearing those words. She needs to throw up. She can’t… “I- I have to see him?”

“It’s compulsory.”

And that, the thought of seeing her husband’s lifeless body breaks her for good, making her faint in front of the detective.

He has been right. This case was going to be hard. And he was already too involved.

 

  
“It wasn’t me”, he says again, opening his lips just to repeat the three words that have been the only things that had left his mouth in the past three hours.

“Listen, buddy. I understand, okay. You didn't think about it, you didn't want to. But you did. And we can’t change that. But we can help you. If you admit it, if you just say the damn right words, we can reduce the years. We can ask the judge to give you less years.”

His stomach is empty by now, but he lifts the bucket they gave him and vomits again, maybe for the twentieth time since he arrived in that little and uncomfortable room.

“I want my lawyer”, he says, looking at the cop in the eyes.

“We called him. But it’s fucking five and he’s sleeping. And I honestly wish I was sleeping too. But I can’t. Because you are here, ruining my day, my mood and my week. Just admit it. You had that gun in your hands, the man was dead in front of your feet, he still had your wife’s perfume on his body.”

This can’t be real. That man… he was the man.

No fucking way.

“You are bluffing.”

“You wish I was. Gavin Rossdale was sleeping with your wife a hour before walking into that bar. Your wife already confirmed it, man. And now he’s dead. Please. Lemme go home. Please.”

“I- I didn’t know… I didn't know him. I swear”, he sounds desperate. He feels desperate. “She had… She had more than one lover”, he admits then, the drops of sweat wetting his temples.

“Wow, man. More than one. And how many of them did you kill?”

“No, no, I…”

_Please, please._

“I have money. A lot of money. I can pay for the caution.”

“There isn't caution for homicide of first grade, you jackass. There’s prison. And it’s waiting for you.”

He promised himself he wasn't going to cry. He couldn't cry. But the tears are starting to sting behind his eyelids and he doesn't have the strength to keep them from falling anymore. He shouldn't cry. But he does. He breaks in front of the cop like a kid. He hasn't cried like this in years. Not since his brother’s death. Be the sobs won’t stop and he does nothing to muffle them.

He just covers his eyes with his big hands and cries, cries because he’s accused of homicide, because his wife has been cheating on him for years, because a man is dead and everybody thinks he killed him. He cries because his life is not a beautiful one, he cries because his brother is dead, because his father is dead, because his mother is not, but she’ll be devastated when she’ll know that her son is in prison for murder.

He cries because he won’t be able to see his dog anymore, or back to Oklahoma and take care of his ranch, of the beautiful property that he and his dad had built with their hands when he was a kid. He cries because he won’t have a son like he always imagined.

He cries because he is still alive but he feels like his life is over.

 

  
“The cowboy won’t talk, Roy. We tried everything.”

“It wasn't him, Joe. Trust me.”

The cop runs a hand through his short hair. “He had the damn gun in his hands, Montgomery, for goodness sake. Let’s just arrest him. We have enough proof.”

“I’m not arresting an innocent man.”

“But he’s not innocent! What the hell, Roy? We’ve been working for years. You are the bad cop, here. Why are you acting like this? I can’t understand.”

“It’s seven and he hasn't stopped vomiting and crying, Joe! And we saw the registrations of his house’s cameras. He left at midnight and arrived at the bar half an hour later. He was already there when the victim walked in. It was a coincidence.”

Roy Montgomery is sure of what he’s saying and his colleague can sense it. But he still doesn't understand why the cop wants to protect this man at all costs. He tries, he tries to enter in his friend’s mind and find something, but Roy is a stone cold today. And he doesn't want anyone to understand what’s happening in his head.

“Roy, pal, you need to go home and clear your head.”

“I don’t need to do such a thing”, he says walking towards the murderboard he filled with photos and documents about the victim and the killer even if there wasn't the need. They never use it when a case is already closed before even opening it.

“Is this about your wife, Roy?”

The man stops, his back stiffens in front of his colleague’s eyes. “Don’t even say it, Joe. Don’t. I don’t want to ruin our friendship because of a murder. It never happened. And it’s not gonna happen today.”

Joe sighs deeply and looks at his friend. “Why are you this sure he’s innocent? At least explain it to me.”

“First, if he really was the killer, he would have ran away as soon as the man was dead. But no, he stayed there, with the gun in his hands. Second, where did he take the gun? We know he has one, but it was at his place. Why did he use another one and where did he find it?”

“Maybe he didn’t use it to not seem guilty.”

“And yet, he didn't ran? He waited for the cops? That makes no sense”, Roy continues, touching his mustache again. He plays with it only when he really feels stressed, or tired. Or things don't make sense in his mind. And this is the case. This story has no sense.

“I want to talk to him, again. But alone.”

His colleague only has time to nod before the older detective leaves the room in a rush.

 

  
Roy Montgomery finds a hopeless man waiting for him. Literally hopeless. His hair is a mess of sticky curls, his eyes are red and puffy and he can see all the fear of the world in them.

“I need to hear what happened. Again.”

The man lifts his blue eyes and looks at the detective. He smiles, a bitter and sad smile that makes the cop doubt of his instinct for the first time in his entire life. But it’s just a moment, a heartbeat, and the crying and desperate man is back in front of him, his hands on the table and his legs shaking under it.

“I- I’m tired”, he says with a trembling voice. “I’ve been in this room for hours. What time is it?”

“Almost eight am”, he replies, looking at the mirror behind him and gesturing something with his hands. Some seconds later, another cop enters and the suspect winces in the harsh chair. The officer holds a bottle of water in front of his face and he reaches for it with his cuffed wrists.

He takes a long sip, his dry mouth finally, finally, savoring the liquid with a long moan of relief. The detective looks at him while he drinks with eagerness the water. “I really needed that”, he whispers then and Roy nods.

“I need to know what happened. Again. From the beginning.”

“B- But, why? I already… Do you believe me, detective?”

Roy touches his mustache and sits on the table, studying the man in silence for a moment. “It’s not important what I believe, man. But I need to hear it again.”

The man exhales, takes a last sip and then starts talking, telling the story that he has been repeating all night long. “I came back home a little bit before midnight, I found my wife with that man in the bed, I took some clothes and left. I didn't even look at him, I didn't care about who he was. I looked for a place away from the centre, I didn't want anyone to recognize me or to meet someone I knew, I-“

“Why that bar?”, the detective asks stopping him.

“I told you. I just ended up in that bar without even realizing it. I was driving around and I stopped in front of that place. There weren't a lot of people inside. I think it was because of the bad smell. I ordered a beer and nothing happened for a while. Then, around two am, a man entered and shot two times, I threw myself on the floor and waited for like ten seconds before seeing a man in front of me covered in blood. I stood up and the man with the gun ran away after leaving the gun at his feet. I don’t know why I took it. It just… I wasn't even thinking in that moment. I didn't know that the man was… was him. I only found out he was my wife’s lover when the other cop told me, I swear.”

“Why are there your fingerprints on the man’s body?”

The man stares at his fingers, noticing only now some red spots still visible on his skin. “I- I… I just needed to do something. He was there, bleeding, dying in front of my eyes. I wanted to help and I don’t know, I looked for the bullet hole to press on it but I couldn't find it. And then I took the gun. I don't know why I did it. I just needed to… to have my hands occupied, I think.”

The version of the story is always the same. The man didn't change anything of what he said the first time they asked him what happened. Even the words were the same.

Pure terror is filling his blue irises. He looks lost. Every minute that passes, his possibilities of being a free man are reduced by the lack of clues that could exonerate him.

“Did you… I have a gun at home. And it’s registered. Can’t you see if the one you found at the bar is of someone? Can’t you-“

“We already checked. It’s not registered. I’m sorry.”

The man nods and bends his head. “I guess that’s all, right?”

Last phase. Acceptance.

The detective sighs, his own heart breaking in front of the suspect.

“It really wasn't me”, he murmurs then, sending a shiver through Roy’s body with his cold and broken words. He really shouldn't let his cases affect him this much. But he does. Every single time. And it kills him. Every single time.

“Your lawyer is almost here. You can wait for him in the cell of the precinct.”

“And then?”

The blue eyes shine in front of him. “And then… the court will decide.” He stares at the man crying for the last time before being escorted out of the interrogation room.

Roy Montgomery looks at himself in the mirror wall. He just took someone’s life away. And an acid taste is filling his mouth.

This is not the right job for him.

 

  
The room is full of people. Of course, a famous singer is accused of the homicide of another famous singer. Of course the room is full.

The tall man with blue eyes is staring at his hands, the murmuring loud behind him, when suddenly the silence fills his ears and everyone stands up. His movements are slow and tired, his lawyer, his friend to be exact, helps him with a hand and he smiles at him gratefully.

When it’s time to sit again, he lifts his head and finds the judge looking back at him. It’s a woman. And she has fire in her eyes.

He shivers, bringing a hand in front of his mouth to cover the sob. He can’t cry again. Not here, at least. He has been crying for the previous two days. He had never left the cot of his little cell at the precinct. Not even to eat, only to use the dirty toilet twice a day. Roy Montgomery, the detective, had checked on him every two hours, forcing him to drink something and looking at him with eyes full of grief and pity.

But he doesn't need anyone’s compassion. He just needs to be free.

Someone is talking but he doesn't care, he doesn't listen, he just wants to go home. He feels dirty. He feels lost. His mum is not in the room and he’s thankful for that. He doesn't want her to see him like this, to see his son during his last day of freedom.

Because he already knows the sentence, everybody knows it, and yet, everyone is in the room, waiting to hear it, because the king of country music is about to be arrested and wow, isn't that cool.

He feels a hole burning in his right shoulder, someone’s stare intense on him, and he shifts his gaze, only a little, finding a blonde woman looking at him intensely from the first row of the crowd.

She has a tissue in her hand and she uses it to wipe the tears away from her wet cheeks. He doesn't know who she is but he understands immediately. The cops accused him of leaving a woman and her son alone and he only needed a look to understand that it’s her.

She’s beautiful, breathtaking almost, and for the first time since that night, he feels sorry for someone else aside from himself. He feels sorry for her.

Because her cheating husband was sleeping with his cheating wife. And now her husband is dead. And he is… he is in prison. Accused of homicide.

Their lives are both ruined but he doesn't feel sorry for himself anymore. He feels sorry for her. Because in some ways, he is the reason why this blonde woman is crying and looking at him with only hate in her eyes.

“Everybody stands up for the verdict.”

_Wow, that was fast._

The man shifts his gaze to the judge once again and he closes his eyes. And waits.

And then everything is a blur, a rapid sequence of obfuscated images and words.

_“Blake Shelton, you are under arrest for Gavin Rossdale’s murder.”_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, today is the day.  
> I'm soooo ready for season 12 and soooo happy the wait is finally over!  
> Thank you so much for the good reviews you guys left under the first one, I honestly wasn't expecting all that enthusiasm for this fic! Thank you!  
> Here's the second chapter, enjoy it.
> 
> P.s. Angst, angst, angst
> 
> Fede

If you ask someone how life in prison is, they will just look at you and shake their shoulders. “Not good”, they’ll say, because, honestly, who would say that living in prison is good?

Privacy and dignity are the first things you lose once you become a prisoner. Then the smile. And after some months, or weeks for someone, the hope. And when you lose hope, when the last drop of it leaves your body without even warning you, you stop being a man. You stop being everything you’ve always been in the moment you lay your head on the dirty cot for the first time. But you stop being a man only when you look at the sky from the barred window of your cell and the realization that you life is in a cage and that nothing can change it, hits you, hard, abruptly, leaving you without dreams, without a future, without hope. You give up. You close your eyes, take a shaky breath, and just admit to yourself that no one is going to save you, that no one is going to fight for your already lost battle.

You stop counting the days, stop being ashamed of using the toilet in front of everyone, stop caring about yourself. You stop living. And you can only start surviving.

 

 

“Shelton, you have a visitor.”

His steps are slow and heavy, the walk from his cell to the visiting room seems to last ages and the guard in front of him sighs with irritation. “You are the only one who is not happy when there’s a visitor, man.”

Blake doesn't say anything, barely acknowledges the man who is talking to him, he just keeps walking and staring at the dark floor.

It’s been a month. His first month in prison. His first month spent paying for someone else’s crime. He doesn't try to persuade the cops anymore, he’s done with the letters for the judge and the general attorney. He stopped fighting, he lost hope, he stopped living.

But he hasn’t learned how to survive yet.

 

 

“How are they treating you, kid? Are you eating again?”

The detective’s words are welcomed by an uncomfortable silence, the man in front of him keeps tracing the tattoo on his arm with his fingers, his eyes don't shine anymore.

“Blake…”

“Why do you keep visiting me?”, the prisoner’s voice startles the older man, his tone cold, deep, different. “Tomorrow is a month. Do you think I already lost the count? Maybe the others, but not me. I keep counting, I keep thinking about how many days passed since the day you put me in here. You. But yet, you come here every week, one day a week, usually on Monday, but sometimes on Tuesday. And I want to know why. I’ve been nice, not rude,  _ at least _ , because this is who I am. But I need to understand why. Why are you here, detective Montgomery?”

He finishes his speech with less air in his lungs, the vein in his neck throbbing furiously under the cop’s severe gaze. “I did everything but put you in here, trust me”, he says after licking his dark lips with his tongue, taking a little time to organize the thousand thoughts inside of his head. “I wanted everything but this.”

“I’m eating again”, the singer says, finally eyeing the man in front of him. “And they are… some guards are nice, too nice, maybe they were fans”, he lifts his shoulders, “and the man who shares the cell with me, well, I think he told everyone that I killed my wife and her lover while they were still fucking, so I don't know, it looks like everyone is scared of me.”

“That’s good. Trust me, son. The best way to survive in this place… just let them believe you’ve done worse things than them.”

The silence is heavy again, it lasts some long minutes, both the men absorbed in their thoughts.

Blake Shelton looks older. His shoulders seem to carry the heaviest rock of the planet, his posture is not correct, he keeps bending towards the table in front him without even realizing it. The cop knows it too well, that rock, that burden the man is carrying on his shoulders is just his own miserable destiny.

“Why did you-“

“You know”, Blake stops the detective, “sometimes I just want to understand. I… why was he there? In that bar? Isn't it a weird coincidence?”

“It is.”

“I just don't understand”, he sighs, “I just need to understand.”

Montgomery smiles sadly. “I wish I could help you.”

“Why do you believe me? You seem to be the only one.”

“I spent a month asking myself the same question. Why do I believe you? Why do I keep seeing your eyes before going to sleep? Why your case won’t let me sleep during the night? Why do I keep coming here?”, he takes a deep breath, “I don’t have an answer. It’s just… I just know.”

The younger man nods slowly. “I appreciate that”, he admits after a moment, finally showing a smile, a little and weak one.

“The guards said you haven't seen your mother yet.”

The prisoner passes a hand through his now longer curls. “I don’t want her to see me like… this.”

“I understand”, and he does, but seeing this young man so hopeless and lonely breaks his heart. He really doesn't know why. He feels too protective, too invested in this story. And he knows, he knows he shouldn’t, he just can’t help himself.

“I saw my sister, and Luke, my best friend. Tim too, some guy from my crew, my cousin”, Blake says suddenly, feeling more talkative and open towards the cop. “My sister… well, she spent the hour crying, but it was nice. Okay, I mean.”

“That’s good.”

“I have a question. But I’m not gonna explain why I want to know about it.”

“I’m lost, son”, the detective chuckles.

“How is she?”

The man touches his mustache and furrows his eyebrows. “Who?”

“His… his wife.” The silence that follows his admission sends a shiver through his body. “I just… I saw her, the day of the audience. I never saw so much hate in someone’s eyes. Not towards me, at least.”

“You have to understand her, Blake. She thinks it was you. She is sure”, he tries to explain. “But why do you care?”

“Because it may sound weird, but there hasn't been a day I passed without thinking about her.”

 

 

He waits for the door to open for a minute or two. He doesn't know why he’s there, he just took his car’s keys and drove to the big house before thinking about it twice. He feels like he needs to do this. He feels like he can’t change things, but he can at least make them a little bit better.

The door opens and a young woman appears in front of him. “Yes?”

“Uhm, I was looking for Mrs. Stefani.”

“I’m sorry, but she doesn't release interviews”, she says quickly, moving to close the door.

He stops it with a hand and exhales. He didn't want to do this. “Detective Montgomery”, he explains then, showing her his badge with a fast movement to shift his jacket.

The woman’s eyes widen and she gestures him to follow her inside. Everything is like the last time he was there, nothing has changed. He can hear a baby’s crying and he smiles sadly at the thought of the woman and her son alone in that big, quiet house.

Before he has time to thank the lady who let him in, a voice he easily recognizes calls his name, making him turn around. “Mrs. Stefani”, he says, smiling a little.

“Detective. What are you doing here?” The woman descends the stairs with her son in her arms, lulling him gently and patting his little back. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is alright. I just wanted to exchange a few words with you, if it’s not a problem.”

The woman studies him with attention, lifting one of her curated eyebrows in wonder. She passes the baby to the other girl, maybe the baby-sitter, and murmurs something to her, something he can’t hear.

“Do you want a coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

He follows her in the kitchen, observing the rich objects around him. “You have a beautiful house”, he says sitting on the stool in front of the large counter.

“Thanks. But I’m selling it. It doesn't feel… I want my son to grow in another house”, she explains, filling a pot with some water. “Why are you here, detective?”, her question doesn't surprise the man, he was waiting for it.

“I went to the prison yesterday”, he begins, following every movement of the woman with his dark eyes. “I’ve been visiting him for the past month.”

The woman’s hands start shaking violently. “What kind of cop are you?”

He honestly was expecting a higher tone of voice. But the blonde in front of him seems… calm, almost. Apart from her agitated hands, her face is still relaxed and he doesn't see any trace of anger in her eyes. Not yet.

“Five years ago, four and half, to be exact, my wife got killed during a bank robbery. She just was in the  wrong place at the wrong time . I couldn't investigate my own wife’s death, of course, but I did it anyway. I thought I caught him. But there was something about that guy, something in his eyes…”, he stops for a moment, quickly rubbing his eyes with his palms, “he kept saying he didn't do it, that he was one of the robbers but that he didn't even know how to use a gun… but I didn't believe him."

“Why are you telling me this, detective?”, she fills his cup with hot coffee, her brown eyes full of tears, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“That man, that young man… he killed himself. After three months in prison, after three months I spent hating him, calling him names and never believing him. They found him in his cell, one morning, and when they told me, I just… I remembered his eyes, about all the times he tried to convince me that it wasn't him. And I reopened the case.”

Tears are running free on the woman’s cheeks, her coffee untouched in her hands. “What… Did you…”

He nods, not needing to hear the question. “I caught the killer, two years later. The man confessed after another robbery.”

Gwen takes a sip from her mug, closing her eyes for a moment. She doesn't know why the detective is so obsessed with her husband’s killer, she doesn't know why he believes him, she can’t understand, but she finally realizes that it has to do with his past. “Why are you so sure, detective?”

“I just know. Do you know why I keep visiting? Every week?”, she doesn't reply but Montgomery waits for a sign, something, before start talking again. When she finally shakes her head, he sighs, “To see with my own eyes that he is still alive. To be sure he won’t just end his life ‘cause I made a mistake. It can’t happen again.”

“Do you understand that it’s not enough? That you want me to forgive the man who killed my husband?”

“He didn't do it.”

The woman exhales deeply. “Even if I believed him… it wouldn't change things, detective. He is in prison. And he doesn't even know me. Why do you care about my opinion so much?”

“Because we are talking about your husband. And I need your approval to keep investigating.”

She gasps. “B- But, the judge-“

“No one will know about my investigation”, he interrupts her, “but first I need you to believe me. To believe him.”

Gwen wipes a couple of tears off of her cheeks with shaking fingers. “I need more time.”

Roy Montgomery looks around for a moment, only stopping once his eyes land on the woman in front of him. “He is in prison. He doesn't have some privileges anymore. And time is one of them.”

 

 

The mirror in front of him is dirty and steamy, but he can see his reflection anyway. The guard who literally follows him everywhere is observing him, maybe wondering what’s taking him so long. He’s doing nothing, just staring, just studying his own body.

He hates prison, there is not a thing he likes about living in  this  place, but, at least, he lost weight. It’s only been five weeks, yes, he hasn't stopped counting yet, thirty six days, five hours, and his body is already changed. He doesn't work out like the other men, he doesn't care about muscles and shit like that, but he doesn't eat  either .

Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t. It depends on how he feels, on how much food his stomach can take. He feels sick most of the days. He’s not used to the stinging smell of the prison yet, to the dark colors of the walls that surround him, to the guards and the other prisoners being noisy at every hour of the day.

His belly is less pronounced, his cheeks are less full and he can see the lines of his cheekbones and easily trace them with his fingers. The circles under his eyes are dark and deep and his curls are longer, wilder, less curated than how they used to be.

He always loved his curls, always loved the natural way his hair would lay on his temples and skull, but now he can’t even look at it, he can’t look at his reflection. Everything about himself disgusts him, makes him feel sicker than what he already is.

He misses his guitar, he misses singing. He doesn't recognize his voice anymore. It’s raspy, broken. A guard gave him a pen and some papers and he had found himself writing some lines of a new song. It’s sad, dark, but good, but he knows he’ll never have the opportunity to sing it, to make those phrases become a real song.

The other inmates recognized him, some of them know his songs, know who he is. They are still scared, he hasn't figured out why yet, maybe really because of what his cellmate said about him, he isn't sure, but he's okay with people being afraid of him if it means they keep ignoring and not bothering him.

He has already  seen  how things work in prison. There are gangs, there are groups of prisoners that control everything and others that don't count much. He saw people using drugs, smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol, and he knows that these things are not allowed in there so someone has to bring them inside. And he’d sell a lung to have a drink but he really doesn't want to ask for any kind of favor to anyone.

He prefers keep minding his own business, spending his days laying on the cot, writing a song or two, walking around the yard during the sunny days, ignoring people.

He’s good at it now, at ignoring people. He used to be such a friendly guy, he used to love talking and spending time with people, to be surrounded by friends and relatives. But he doesn't like it anymore, or better,  _ he can’t _ do it anymore. He doesn't have friends, he barely talks to people, he barely thinks about his family, he barely exists.

Sometimes he wants to die. He lies on his cot and hopes he’ll never open his eyes again. But he does. He opens them every morning, stares at the ceiling, sighs, and another long day begins.

 

“Hurry up, man, you have a visitor”, the young guard’s voice brings him back to reality and he exhales deeply, finally wearing the top of the uniform again and shivering against the cold fabric on his skin.

“It’s not my day to have a visitor.”

“There are no days to have visitors, man. We decide, not you.”

Blake rolls his eyes, following the guard out of the toilets, “Yeah, my friends aren't supposed to come today.”

“Hey, do you want me to put you back in your cell and send the person away? I can do that.”

For a moment, he’s  tempted  to say yes. He doesn't want to see people, not today. Not after he has been staring at his reflection for so long. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. This broken, this hopeless.

“N- No, I… it’s okay.”

They pass the visiting room, he can see the other prisoners talking to people, and he wonders why he’s not there with them if he has a visitor. “Where are we going?”

“This is a special visit”, the guy replies quickly, pointing towards a closed door with a hand, “you’ll stay alone with your visitor but there will be two supervisors inside. If you only lay a single finger on the woman, you go to isolation. Are we clear?”

“The woman? I’m not following you.”

“Good, now get in.”

He takes a step inside the room and winces when the guard closes the door behind him loudly. The room is empty, for now, and he decides to sit on one of the two chairs around the table. After only a few seconds, that pass slowly like they are hours, another door opens and an old guard enters, quickly looking at him before gesturing at someone behind him.

A blink of eyes and the blond woman is in front of him, her face contorted in anxiety, her eyes wide open. She doesn't say anything, she studies the man in front of her for long and heavy seconds, making him feel little and uncomfortable under her deep stare.

She shrugs out of her coat and takes a seat on the other chair, leaving only the table at dividing them.

Blake didn't notice what happened after she entered, but now he can see two guards, both of them in silence and laying with their backs against the wall behind the woman. They stare at him and he shivers, moving uncomfortably on the chair, looking at everywhere but her.

Why is she here? And why today?  _ Fuck, fuck. _

“I’m Gwen”, she finally says, her words only a feeble that get lost in the room two seconds after she said them.

He nods, he can only do that, and keeps staring at his hands. He feels guilty. He doesn't know why, but in this moment, for the first time since he’s been arrested, he feels guilty for a murder he didn't commit.

“I- I’m… I don’t understand”, he says then, prying with all his heart that the woman isn't here to inform him that she requested the death penalty.

“How old are you?”

The question leaves him staring at her in wonder. “Thirty”, he replies quickly, too quickly.

And then, finally, his eyes land on hers, she hasn't moved them since she entered the room, but he has never looked at her with this little distance between them. He doesn't know how old is she, but she looks young, too young to already be widow.

“Why did you do it?”

He sighs because he knew she didn't believe him, he knew she wasn't here to be friendly and ask him about his age, but he just… he had finally found a little hope back, only to lose it again after three minutes.

“It wasn’t me, Mrs.”

The woman won’t stop staring at him and it’s becoming too much. He feels dirty, alone, useless. He has nothing that can help her. He won’t keep feeling guilty for something he didn't do just because he has pity on her. He didn't do it.

“We both are victims here”, he murmurs, slowly, and maybe that’s the wrong thing to say but honestly, he doesn't care anymore.

“You could have just told him to stop sleeping with your wife, you know.”

“It wasn't me.”

“What? Weren't you man enough to leave her? You needed to kill my husband to make her stop sleeping around?”

It stings, it breaks his heart a little more knowing how little this woman thinks about him, but he tightens his teeth and smiles sadly. “It wasn't me.”

“Was he the first one? No, of course not. How many times did you catch her? How many times did you ignore the fact that you weren't enough for her? Enough to take your gun and kill someone, I guess. Like what? Five? Ten times?”

He won’t cry, he won’t, not in front of her. He won’t show her how much the words are hurting him, how much he feels good for nothing, how much she is breaking him. He lets her  free  herself from her thoughts and emotions, killing him with her words, making him feel empty, making his heart stop at every insult she has for him.

“It wasn't me”, he keeps repeating, until he almost doesn't believe himself anymore.

He closes his eyes, and waits. Waits, waits, waits. But when he opens them again, she’s still there, still studying him, still hating him.

He wants to disappear, he wants the floor under his feet to open in a gap that will suck him inside until he doesn't exist anymore, until his life is over and he can be free again.

“Can you let me go?”, he takes a deep, loud breath. “Why are you even here? It’s pretty clear you don't believe me. I can’t give you what you want. I won’t take the blame for it. I’m already in prison. Isn’t it enough for you?”

“You killed my husband. Of course it’s not enough.”

“It wasn’t me!”, he snaps, his voice louder, colder. “I don’t fucking care if you don’t believe me. I’m done here. Let me go to my cell and never come back. I’m in prison for someone else’s murder and that’s enough.”

“Shelton”, one of the guards takes a step towards them and he closes his mouth before licking his dry lips quickly.

He bends his head, finally letting a tear rolling down his cheek. “I want to go back to my cell.”

Gwen notices only now that she is crying, that her cheeks and cheekbones are wet and that her hands are shaking on the table in front of her. “I… I’m sorry for what I said”, she whispers, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You have every right to hate me. But you don’t know me. You don’t know how my marriage was. You know nothing.”

She nods in silence, her bottom lip trembles but she uses all her strength to stop herself from crying more. “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

The man in front of her shakes his head, showing her all the resignation he can put in his eyes. “I really want to stay alone. Please.”

She doesn't say anything, she just gets up and takes her coat, looking at everywhere but at him. “You have to understand me. I’m alone now. And my son will never remember his father. I can’t believe you.”

He nods, because that’s the only thing he can do. He looks at her one last time, at her body, her blond hair, her big and sincere eyes. He takes everything in, trying to memorize every inch of her, every little part of her naked skin he can see, every detail of her curated hands.

“It wasn’t me”, he murmurs then, one last time, and from the way she nods, he almost thinks she believes him. But he knows she doesn’t. He knows she’ll never believe him. He knows she’ll never look at him in the same way he is looking at her now. Because she has too much hate inside, too much anger, and all towards him.

But he, on the other hand, has only respect for her. There’s only caring, in his heart, for this woman and that’s what scares him the most.

 

 

He goes back to his cell, his inmate is waiting for him expectantly.

“Is it true? Your victim’s wife visited you? Wow, man, that sucks.”

He ignores him, like he always does, and lies on his cot, trying to think about everything but what just happened. He resists three seconds, maybe four, and then his mind is back on the woman’s words, on her eyes, on her body.

He is panting, looking for air with his open mouth and he knows what’s happening. He’s having a panic attack.

“Do you want me to call someone?”, the other man asks and for the first time Blake pays attention to him, accepting grateful his concern but shaking his head. He can’t talk, he can hardly breathe by now, but he tries, he tries to shut his brain and open his lungs, to stop the attack and the spasms that are shaking his body.

It lasts some minutes, long minutes he will never forget, but he finally starts breathing normally again, rubbing his eyes before using his hands to wipe some of the sweat off her forehead. His head is still spinning but he doesn't mind. He looks at the man who hasn't stopped staring at him with his eyes filled with worry, and points at one of his shoes.

“Do you still have that blade?”

The prisoner freezes. “Man, you don’t want to do it.”

He coughs, hating the acid taste he feels in his mouth. “You don’t know what I want. Just give me the damn blade.”

Harry, maybe that’s the man’s name, takes something from his right shoe and gives it to Blake. He stares at it, the little object shining in his hand, before closing his eyes. He can’t do this anymore.

He gets up, taking a deep breath before looking out of the cell. He can’t see any guard but he tries anyway. “Hey! Hey!”, he yells before waiting, using the pocket of his vest to hide the blade. It’s the moment.

James, the young guard he’s been spending most of his time with, arrives and Blake finds himself cursing under his breath, wanting everyone but that guy to see him… like this.

“I need to use the toilet”, he explains quickly in front of his curious eyes.

“Can’t you use that one?”, he asks back, pointing at the little toilet in the cell.

“No. I need to do… bigger things.”

The cop exhales and nods, before asking for his wrists and cuffing them. He opens the cells, the metal of the keys hitting the one of the bars and causing goosebumps on Blake’s skin, let the prisoner walk in front of him and following his steps. He frees him once they are in the big bathroom and Blake smiles,  _ one last time, _ at him, before choosing a cubicle and closing the door behind him.

It’s time.

He stares at his wrists in wonder. He has never done something like that. He doesn't know how… He doesn't have much time. Just a few more minutes before the guard will check on him. He needs to be fast. And precise.

Well, he resisted more than a month. That’s something, right? It’s enough, right?

What will his mother think? Damn, his whole family. Will they be okay? And detective Montgomery? He had believed him. He had seen love in his eyes. And faith. And hope.

But Blake Shelton doesn't have them anymore. He lost everything. He has nothing. And he doesn't want to live with nothing. With only a cold and broken heart and two pairs of prison suits. He needs more. He needed more. But this is it. This is him now. A prisoner. A killer, for someone.

He doesn't know if he is ready to die. But he knows that he is not ready to keep living like this. So, he has no choice, right? He can only end his life and put himself out of his own misery.

He hopes it will be enough to make Gwen’s life a little bit better. She’ll never have her husband back, that’s true, but at least he won’t be alive anymore and she will stop thinking about him, about the confession that had never left his lips, about how much she is sure he ruined her life.

Right?

He has to do it now, before it’s too late.

He will be with his brother again. With his father. He will be free.

He wipes a tear off of his cheek, the only one that had managed to escape from his eyes, and smiles. A big and bright smile. He can taste it in his mouth. The freedom. He’s almost there, almost touching it. It’s near. And he smiles.

Blake takes the blade between his fingers, touches the cold metal and shivers. He just needs to…

He closes his eyes, focusing his mind on the only good thing that he has seen in the past month.

Her.

Her eyes. Brown, big, beautiful.

He’s ready.

Ready to let go. Ready to be free.

 

And he is doing it for her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for delay. I've been really busy between university and work but here's the new chapter!  
> Enjoy.

“How is he?”

“He lost a lot of blood, sir. He needs to rest. And he'll feel tired and weak for weeks. But he’ll survive.”

The man listens to the doctor’s words in silence and nods once he finishes talking. “That was a close call.”

“It was”, the doctor agrees, “we are glad the guard found him in time.”

“Me too.”

“Is there any relative we can call? I know he can't see them, for now, but we want them to be aware of what happened anyway.”

“I already talked to his sister. I'm trying to stop her from suing the prison”, the cop explains.

The doctor sighs. “I used to listen to his songs. I still can't believe that he did what he did.”

“Yeah”, the detective smiles sadly, “I can't believe it either.”

 

 

He has never felt like this. He feels like every little mote of strength had left his body in the moment he had started cutting. He doesn't know what he did wrong, but he knows that he's not dead.

He honestly thought it was going to be easier. But they didn't only take his freedom away, they also took his will to die.

They don't want him to die. But they don't him to live either.

His eyelids are heavy and it takes some seconds more than the usual for him to lift them up. The room is nothing more than a blurry mess for long seconds, he blinks once, twice, before starting to focus on the objects around him. He’s in a hospital, that’s clear. His wrists are not cuffed to the bed, they are wrapped in bandages, a big and red spot well visible on one of them.

His cuffed ankles are the reason why he can’t get up. He’s still a prisoner, after all. He is alone, his throat is sore, his head hurts, and he can’t move. He tries to open his mouth and talk but his body is not strong enough to respond to his commands right now.

He closes his eyes again, stopping the tears from falling, and exhaling deeply. Even breathing hurts.

He doesn't know what it’s going to happen now, but he knows for sure that he can’t go back in prison. He had managed to build a reputation around him, a reputation that had kept him safe until now. But when he’ll go back inside, the other prisoners will see him for who he is. A weak, scared and alone man.

Nobody will be able to protect him anymore. Not even himself.

Someone is talking  at the other side  of the door of his room and he waits for them to enter. When they do, some minutes later, and he opens his eyes, he feels happy to see a known and friendly face in front of him.

“Detective”, he manages to murmur after a vain tentative.

The cop smiles at him, his eyes pointed to his wrists for a moment. “I’m glad you are okay, son.”

“I can’t really say the same”, Blake murmurs then, causing a long and awkward silence to fill the room.

“Doctor, can I have a moment with him? Alone?”

The doctor nods and looks at Blake one last time before turning to leave the room. They don’t know what to say, they keep staring at each other for long and intense seconds. “What happened?”, Montgomery finally finds the courage to ask.

Blake shifts uncomfortably on the bed and sighs. “I don’t want to live like this. I tried. But I can’t.”

“I’ll help you. I’ll do everything I can, Blake. I’ll get you out.”

It’s a promise, Blake can feel it. He can feel the man’s sincerity, his promises don't sound empty and hypocritical, they are real, honest. “I appreciate that.”

“Don’t try to kill yourself. Don’t try to end your life because of this. Don’t let them win.”

“I’ll try.”

 

 

He’s been moved to a maximum security area. Now he really is alone. The only face he sees everyday is the one of the guard that follows him everywhere, never leaving him alone. He feels eyes pointed  at him even when he’s asleep, in the dark of his new, little cell.

His sister has  visited everyday since the day of the…  _ incident _ , and he had finally given the permission to visit him to his mother. The hour they had spent together had been too much. Seeing his mum like this, had literally killed him. He had spent the night after the encounter crying, but the suicide thoughts hadn't filled his head since that day.

He feels constantly tired. And the sensation of emptiness never leaves his body. But he continues waking up, he continues eating and seeing the therapist of the prison. He continues staring at the sky and praying  to  a God he had never believed in.

He had asked for a guitar but it had never arrived. They were already too kind  to him, always asking him how he was feeling and giving him some real food when the other guards weren’t watching. But everybody would have notice the presence of a guitar in his cell, of course.

He keeps writing then, sad and deep songs about his days in prison, about his pain, about the freedom he craves everyday and every night.

Detective Montgomery had kept visiting him, every week, at the same hour of the same day. Blake finds himself waiting for the older man like he is some close member of his family. He had learnt a lot of things about the cop, about his career  and about his wife.

The detective had told him about the guy who had killed himself because he  had been  accused of his wife’s murder and he had felt bad. This man had helped him a lot, he had never stopped believing him, and yet, he had tried to end his life without thinking about the  feelings  of other people in his life.

He doesn't know why, or how, but he feels like they are friends. And he likes it. The cop is still trying to help him, arriving every week with new leads and images but the investigation seems to be stuck in place. Nothing changed. He is still in prison. The man is still dead. And who did it is still free.

He’s accepting it, kind of. It’s not that he likes to live there, but he’s forgetting how his life was before. And maybe it’s for the best.

 

He is writing something on a paper when the guard arrives in front of the cell with shining cuffs in his hands. “Let’s go, man.”

Blake nods and gets up, pulling his wrists out and waiting for the cop to close the cuffs around them. They don’t hurt anymore, the scars, but he sees them everyday and images of what he did fill his head. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason why he didn’t die. Sometimes he just stops and thinks that there has to be something, something he hasn't done yet, and that something is the reason why he’s still alive. He has things to do, places to see, people to meet. And he has to be alive to do that. And free. But he tries to not think about that too much.

It’s been two months, two months since he left the hospital’s room, and three since they had arrested him. He won’t admit it, but time is flying. And he’s thankful for that. Most of the days are boring, but he lets the hours pass waiting for the time he can spend out in the courtyard, when the other prisoners are inside, of course, and the two hours a day he can spend with his family, when they visit him.

The visiting room is different, has been for two months, and it’s just him and his guard, Michael, when they enter. His nose doesn’t crimp anymore at the smell of Clorox used to clean the floor and the dazzling light of the lamps doesn't bother his eyes anymore.

He’s used to it. Used to live in prison.

He sits and waits,  he keeps writing on the little paper he brought from the cell because he knows he always has to wait before seeing someone. It’s praxis. Visitors have to be checked before meeting the inmates, everybody knows that.

He is still writing when the door opens, absorbed in his thoughts and ideas and smiling in front of his own words. This could be a very good song.

Someone clears their throat and he snaps his head up, finally looking at the person in front of him. It’s an instinct, a self defense, he gets up and takes two steps back, cursing under his breath.

_ What the… _

“What are you doing here?”, he asks before taking a deep breath.

“Blake, calm down”, Roy Montgomery says, showing his palms to the man, trying to calm him. “We are here to help you.”

“You”, the man snaps back, “but what about her? Last time she was here she did everything but help, trust me.”

A quick but well evident track of hurt passes through the blonde woman’s eyes but Blake doesn't feel sorry for what he just said. “Blake…”

He’s not sure, but it may be the first time that she says his name and the jump his heart does inside of his chest is not a good sign. “What’s happening?”

“Sit down, please”, he only does it because the man asked and he really can’t say no to those friendly and big brown eyes. Not when they are looking at him like this.

“We found something”, he starts, taking some papers from his bag. The woman is in silence near him and Blake tries to avoid her stinging gaze. “And it’s good. It’s a good lead. And it gives us the opportunity to officially reopens the case.”

He had stopped breathing without even noticing. This can’t be true. He’ve been waiting for his moment for three months. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, Blake, no jokes here. I found a camera, three streets away from the bar. It shows you, going to the bar around midnight.”

“Uhm, okay. That’s not gonna help me”, he says, his excitement already gone.

“Wait, man. There was something else”, the detective licks his lips and smiles, secure of himself. He opens a folder and takes a photo out of it, showing it to the man in front of him. “This man, he was walking towards the bar around two that night. Look, look here near his arm”, he points to the photo and both Blake and Gwen bend a little to have a better view. “Do you see it?”

Gwen nods, murmuring something like “you were right”, but the prisoner is too busy staring at the photo in front of him to notice.

“This is a gun”, he murmurs, his voice weak and shaky. “This…”

“Blake”, the detective’s voice sounds  far , like he just ran away from him and he’s trying to talk anyway, even if he can’t hear him. His mind is a blur of thoughts and his hands are shaking violently.

“Blake?”

It’s her voice, her delicate pronounce, the sweetness of her tone, that help him coming out from the mess that his head is right now. “I- I don’t want to get my hopes up”, he says then, his voice raspy and deep. “I- I’m…”

“We understand, okay? But this time is different, son. There’s something. I just need you to write a twitter for the general attorney and I’ll think about the rest, okay?”

Blake exhales deeply, shaking his head. “I already sent tons and tons of letters, Roy.”

“But I told you, this time is different.”

“I believe you.”

It’s a whisper, a barely audible sound, but he hears it like it’s the loudest thing ever. He blinks, trying to reorganize his thoughts but without any success. Gwen is staring at him, her eyes full of tears and vulnerability and he feels a sudden desire of hugging her until the sadness leaves her eyes. She’s too pretty to look this sad.

“What changed?”

“Roy called me that day, the day of-“, a sob escapes from her lips, stopping her from continuing her phrase.

“I’ll leave you guys alone for some minutes”, the detective says, getting up and giving them the privacy they need to talk things out.

“Why didn't you come back? You said he called you?” He’s not angry, he just… doesn’t understand.

“It was too much. Gavin was dead and you-“, another sob, “you tried to kill yourself. And I didn't know how much I cared about you until Roy called me and I… I thought you were dead.”

“You can’t care about me. I’m the bad guy. I’m accused of your husband’s murder, for goodness sake. This is wrong.”

“But you didn’t do it.”

He sighs deeply, running a hand through his messy curls. “I didn’t. Buy you also said you didn’t believe me. So, what are you doing here?”

She’s taken aback from his question and his harsh tone and he can see it clearly in her watery eyes. “I wanted to fix… this.”

“This can’t be fixed. Even if they’ll release me, which I hardly doubt, me and you… it’s wrong, Gwen.”

He doesn’t know why, but now that she finally believes him, that she finally wants to build something between them, he is pushing her away. Too many emotions are filling his head, his heart, his soul. Everything is happening too fast, the situation is too absurd to let him understand what he really wants. He thought he wanted her, he thought _he_   _was in_   _lov- no, not love, it’s too soon to use the world love_ , he thought he  _cared,_ even after knowing her for only a few months, but now? Now he feels like she has only hurt him, like she doesn't deserve his forgiveness, his friendship, his trust.

Last time they talked, he had ended the day trying to kill himself. He can’t let that happen again.

“I don’t know why I care so much about you, I don’t. But this feeling is here”, she taps her chest with a finger, “and it won’t go away. And I know it’s wrong, I know that it’s inappropriate, but I want a chance to show you that we could be… friends.”

Her last words are feeble whispers and he has to bend his head towards her to understand what she is saying.

“Gwen…”

“Don’t Gwen me. Just be honest. Do you feel it? Do you think this could be something? A sign from God?”

He laughs, a cynical and cold laugh that sends shivers through her spine. “I don’t believe in God.”

She forces a smile, the atmosphere in the room suddenly too suffocating around them. “Well, I do. And I won’t stop only because my husband is dead.”

“I understand”, he nods, looking at the guard behind her that is using is phone without paying attention at the inmate and his visitor. “I tried to pray, more than one time.”

“When?”

“Since I arrived here. I have so much free time, not  many  things to do.”

“I’m sorry you are going through this.”

“I am too.”

 

 

He had tried to not forgive her, to not act like she had never said all those mean things to him. But it hadn't worked. 

Every week she is there, on that cold and metallic chair, waiting for him. Sometimes twice a week. Sometimes thrice. And she is like the light at the end of the tunnel, like the deep breath you take after long minutes spent under the water, like freedom after months spent in prison.

She brings him books, socks, pictures. The guards are nice with her, they always close an eye when she has things for Blake that she shouldn't have. They had let her bring a coffee to him and he had literally cried in front of the dark liquid, his tastebuds dancing with joy under the rich aroma of the beverage.

He knows her well, by now. He knows that she loves singing, that she used to have a band but she had left it for her husband’ sake. He knows that she has a son, okay, he already knew that, but she had told him that his name is Kingston, or King, like she calls him, and he has her big brown eyes.

He knows that the baby has been the only thing that had given her the strength to go on after her husband’s death, that only seeing that little and toothless smile had reminded her that life is a gift and she had chosen to not waste it.

And she hadn’t. She hadn't wasted it. She had kept living, she had moved on, she had found her smile again. Not like him.

They aren’t friends. But they aren’t just acquaintances. There’s something more, something that fills the space between them every time they sit around the table of the visiting room. Something that they both don’t know how to name. Or they don’t want to.

But it’s there. And they can feel it. Every time they laugh, every time their hands touch, every time he thanks her for bringing something to him. Every time she enters in the room and he is there, in front of her, in his orange and too big uniform, welcoming her with a smile that he only uses with her.

 

“Hey, Will!”, he shouts happily, “I finished the song!"

The cop looks at him smiling, shocking his head a little in front of the man’s excitement. “Good job, Shelton. Damn, I haven’t seen you like this in a while. Wow. That woman is something.”

He nods because honestly, how couldn't he? She really is something.

“It’s for her”, he admits then, blushing like a kid in front of his first crush. “The song.”

“You should give it to her, then.”

He smiles again, his eyes bright and big under the guard’s amused gaze. “I’m going to.”

Some hours later, she is in front of his waiting eyes and they smile at each other, too caught in their air bubble to notice the guard observing them.

“How are you feeling?”, she asks with the sweetest tone, gently laying her hand on his and squeezing it.

He chuckles and lifts his shoulder, trying to not show her how much her touch had made him feel dizzy and excited. “Actually, pretty good. I finished the song”, he says, infecting her with his happiness and good mood.

Gwen shows him her white teeth in a big and proud smile. “Can I see?” His cheeks are red and she thinks about caressing one of them for a moment, just to feel the heat of his skin under her palm for a few seconds.  _ Just to feel him. _ “I won’t judge.”

In a slow movement, he takes a paper out of his pocket and holds it to her, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the beating of his heart. He shouldn’t feel like this.

“It’s just… it’s nothing great”, he murmurs, stopping breathing in the exact moment she starts reading. “If you don’t lik-“

She is not paying attention to him, her eyes are fixed on the handwritten words on the paper and she can feel the tears threatening to fall. “Wow, Blake”, her voice is raspy when she finishes reading, her pupils are big and watery, “it’s…”

“You are my Wonderwall”, he blurts out, not able to stop himself from saying what he had been thinking during the past weeks. “My feelings towards you… my… I don’t know how to explain it. I feel something, strong, something that I can’t ignore. You don’t know how much I wish I could. Because it’s killing me. It’s literally tearing me apart. But at the same time… It’s something really beautiful. Because only seeing you, only making you smile for a hour… it’s enough, for now.”

“Blake-“

“Please, let me finish”, he stops her, showing her a reassuring but shy smile. “I know what people are going to say, what they are going to think. But I don’t care. Because you are giving me the strength to not give up. You taught me how to survive. I’m alive because of you.”

She is crying, his beautiful and powerful words hitting her heart and her soul, making her forget how to breath, how to think, how to talk. His blue eyes are studying her reaction and she can’t hide the sobs, can’t muffle them with her hands, she can only show him her weakness, her pain. “You- You don’t deserve this”, she manages to say between the cries, between the ache that her heart is feeling.

He gets up, his movement quick and impulsive, and the cop behind her takes a step towards them automatically stopping when Blake looks at him, literally begging him with his eyes. The guard nods, in silence, and the prisoner feels a waterfall of gratitude fill his entire body.

He slowly walks around the table, finally finding himself a step away from the woman, without anything between them. For the first time.

His arms are gently around her, strong but cautiously. She stands up, allowing him to squeeze her tiny body with his big and warm frame. She exhales, deeply, contently, placing a hand on his chest and gasping and the feeling of his heart beating fast, furiously.

_ “Because maybe, you are gonna be the one that saves me”,  _ he murmurs, quoting his own song, against her hair.

More tears run through her already wet cheeks but the smile won’t disappear from her face. “I wish I could save you. I wish I could take you home with me.”

“Just knowing that you believe me… that’s enough. For now.”

 

 

When she comes back home, that same night, her brother is waiting for her in front of her house, his face contorted in an angry and severe expression. “Todd?”

She doesn't notice it, at first, the joy still filling her heart and putting her in a good mood. But when she is near enough, when she can see his brother’s eyes better, she stops smiling, a little frown forming on her forehead at the sight of his anger.

“We need to talk”, he says, and she nods, still wondering what it’s happening.

After sending the baby-sitter home and putting Kingston in his crib, she goes to the living room, finding her brother in the exact spot where she had left him. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She takes a step back, slightly scared by his cold voice. “You are asking me what’s wrong? No, Gwen. No. What’s your problem?”

“Todd, I don’t understand.”

“You have been visiting him? Every week? What the fuck?”

“Todd, let me explain”, she tries to lay a hand on his shoulder but he scrolls it away, running a hand through his short hair in exasperation.

“He is your husband’s killer, for Christ’s sake.”

“He didn’t do it”, she says quickly.

“Uh, really? And who told you? Let me think”, he stops for a moment, but not really thinking about it, “him? He told you? I’ll tell you this, Gwen. People lie, all the time, and killers lie because they don’t want to go to jail.”

“He is not a killer”, she tries again, trying to defend the man they are talking about. “It wasn’t him.”

“Gwen”, he continues with a gentler tone, “I know that you are hurt, that you miss Gavin and-“

“Gavin has nothing to do with this!”, she yells, her patience long gone by now. “He has been cheating on me for years, Todd! Did you know about this? He wasn’t a good husband! He hurt me, he left me alone for nights, I gave up on my dreams because of him!”

“I’m sorry to hear that, really, I am”, her brother says sincerely, “but that doesn't justify what you are doing. Just think about it, Gwen. His wife was sleeping with Gavin until two hours before his death. Isn’t that weird?”

Gwen closes her eyes, letting her brother’s words hit her deep, reopening the old scars that she thought healed. “Todd”, she cries, holding the man’s t-shirt in a tight grip.

“I know, sweetie, I know”, he hugs her, caressing her hair and letting her cry all the tears she hasn't poured yet. “Everything will be okay.”

 

 

“The judge accepted my request, Gwen! My god, I can’t believe it! They are officially reopening the case!”

His happy and excited words are the first thing she hears while entering the room, his big smile welcoming her and making her heart stop for a moment, only for a quick and brief moment. She can’t let her heart be in control of her emotions right now. She can’t.

She doesn't return his smile, she keeps a straight face until she is in front of him, avoiding his eyes until she can’t resist anymore.

A look at him and she knows, she knows he understood.

“Gwen?” His voice is weak and insecure and she is dying inside at the sight of his sad expression. “Is- Is everything alright?”

_ You can do this, Gwen, you can. _

But can she?

“This has to stop. You said it yourself. This is wrong.”

His eyes are already filled with tears and she just wants to hug him, to kiss the sadness off of his face and to keep telling him that she believes him. But she can’t.

“As far as I know, you are my husband’s killer. We can’t act like nothing happened.”

“Gwen-“

“No. I can’t talk to you. I can’t do this. I’m wasting my time, here. You ruined my life, Blake Shelton. You killed my husband. And I don’t care if you say it wasn’t you. Because we both know that it’s not true. He slept with your wife and you killed him. You are a murderer. And you deserve to stay here. You don’t deserve to be free. You don’t deserve my forgiveness.”

He is looking at her, his eyes big and scared. He doesn't say anything, he just bends his head and lets the tears run free, staring at the table and touching the cold metal with his hands.

He sighs, shakes his head a little and smiles, a bitter and sad smile that sends shivers through her whole body.

“Don’t come back. I don’t want to see you. Ever again.” He is whispering, but she hears those words like they were the loudest things ever said.

He stands up and she automatically takes a step back, and she realizes that it’s the first time she feels scared in that room. She had felt happy, hurt, emotional. Almost every kind of emotion had filled her body since she had started visiting him. But never fear. But today, after three months, she is scared of him.

And he knows it. “What? You think I would hurt you? Oh, right”, he laughs, “I’m a murder.”

“You are”, she says, trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

“Well, if that’s true, you spent the last months falling in love with a murderer. What does it say about you?”

The guard cuffs his wrists and he follows him out of the room, after looking at the woman for one last time.

Once he is back in his cell, Will, the young cop, stares at him for long seconds, wondering what had just happened. “I don’t understand”, he murmurs then, catching the man’s attention.

“She could have saved me. But she decided to kill me instead.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so, so, sorry. Last weeks have been crazy and I just couldn't find time to write. This is why, after the next, and last, chapter of this fic, I'll take a little break from writing. Thank you so much for reading, it means a lot to me.

The first breath he takes once he’s out, is deep and heavy and it lingers on the back of his throat for a few long seconds before hitting his dry lungs like a wave of fresh water.

Six months. Six months since the day they had decided to take his life away. But, he got it back. His life, his freedom, his right to live.

Funny how someone else’s mistake can change what you once called your life. Everything you were used to, your habits, your dignity, your dreams, all gone. He doesn't know how, he doesn't know when, but he has to start living again.

 

 

Her mother’s eyes are the first things he sees once he steps inside of his house. She doesn't smile at him, she doesn't welcome him with a happy grin like he had thought, but she takes fast and shaky steps towards him before crashing into his chest like a tornado, clinging onto his shirt like she never wants to let him go. Never again.

He encircles her with his arms and waits for her sobs to calm down, caressing her back and murmuring sweet nothings into her ear.

He notices his stepdad staring at them after only some minutes. He had missed him too. He had missed everything and everyone that was his life before.

His mother takes his hand in hers and caresses his knuckles reverently. He had missed her touch, the way that only a mum can make you feel with her presence only. He follows her in his kitchen and sits when she asks him to.

“Why didn’t you call me? We could have picked you up, honey”, his mother says, making him smile melancholically at the sound of her thick accent.

“Mum”, he stops her, looking around for a moment, “I want to go home”, he murmurs then, sounding a little like a whining child but not caring about it at all.

He needs some time to elaborate what had happened to him in the last months and he knows that the tranquility of his property in Oklahoma is what it’s best for him right now.

His mum nods after a long second of silence and he tries to show her a forced smile, grateful that she understands him without asking for unnecessary questions.

“Blake… you need to sign the papers.”

His stepdad’s voice makes him turn towards the door of the kitchen, where the older man is waiting with a bunch of documents in his hand. “Papers?”

“Divorce papers”, Dorothy adds, looking at her son sadly.

“Oh.” He doesn't know how to feel. He knew his marriage was over and he had zero intentions to speak to his wife - _ex wife_ \- ever again, but he is unprepared and with too many thoughts filling his head when his stepdad holds him the papers.

He only reads the first two lines before putting them on the table in front of him and shutting his eyes. “I really need to sleep.”

“Of course, darling. We’ll leave first thing in the morning, okay?”

He nods and gets up, leaving a kiss on his mum’s cheek and hugging her husband briefly before walking to his room. Once he opens the door, his eyes land on the unmade bed and he only has six seconds to reach for the bathroom and empty his already dry stomach inside of the toilet.

He has tears in his eyes when he’s done, the acid taste filling his mouth and the bile burning inside of his belly. He wipes his swollen mouth with a hand and sighs deeply, using all his strength to stop his body from kneeling again in front of the toilet.

He takes a quick shower before gathering some of his things from his wardrobe and walking downstairs again, interrupting his mother and stepdad’s quiet chat.

“Can I sleep on the couch?”

The woman winces at his words and he tries to be strong in front of her tired eyes, to not collapse from the exhaustion and the flood of emotions that are filling his whole body.

“Of course, darling. Let me get it ready for you.”

He doesn't stop his mum, he knows that she needs to be busy to stop thinking bout her son’s pain. He lets her do nice but little things for him, like tucking his blanket once he’s ready to sleep and placing a glass of water on the table near the couch. “Thank you”, he murmurs sleepy, feeling his eyelids heavy and not able anymore to stay open.

“Sleep well, baby boy. You’re home now.”

But is he really?

 

 

He asks his mother to not call a driver, he prefers traveling in the backseat of his stepdad’s car, humming the songs that fill the vehicle and getting lost in his thoughts at the sight of the landscapes that run in front of his eyes.

He had missed the nature, the freedom he feels every time he goes back to Tishomingo and he can’t wait to be there again, after such long and suffocating months.

The first part of the trip doesn't last long, maybe he fell asleep sometime along the road but he doesn't even remember. His mother had tried to have some small talk with him but he had been evasive at every question, letting her understand that he had wanted everything but to talk about things he doesn't enjoy anymore.

Like singing.

They had stopped for the night in a nice but not fancy hotel, needing to rest after nine hours driving. The atmosphere had never been awkward between them, Blake had never hated the man who had tried to take his dad’s place, but the three of them can sense that something is off now, that the talking between them is not easy anymore and that the joy is gone from the singer’s voice, like the sparkling from his eyes.

The car stops in front of their ranch and Blake can finally sighs in relief, escaping quickly from the cage that the vehicle had became in his eyes, and taking long and steady steps towards the big mansion.

A beautiful sight for sore eyes.

It’s like his horse is waiting for him, and he spends long hours riding around his property, enjoying the fresh air and the liberty that his limbs welcome with open arms. There are no rules, no schedules, no guards. Just him, his horse and his thoughts.

The ring of his phone is what brings him back to reality after a few hours spent with his mind elsewhere, where he can be happy again, where six months of his life haven’t been taken away and where… she doesn't hate him.

But hey, he is not thinking about her. Not at all. That woman has only been a little and quick parenthesis of his life. She means nothing to him. Nothing.

The name that appears on the screen of his phone brings a little smile to his lips, and the voice that fills his ear a moment later, is deep and warm like he had expected.

“I never imagined I would be this happy only because I can finally call someone on their phone”, Roy Montgomery says, making Blake chuckle. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“You did”, he admits, shaking his head in disbelief, “you kept your promise and I don’t know what to do to pay you back.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back, kid. I want you to be happy again. Can you do that for me?”

Blake Shelton exhales deeply, looking around for a brief moment, taking everything in, taking a picture of that moment with his mind. “I’ll try.”

 

 

“Every time I find you in front of my door, I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack”, the woman says sharply, between the seriousness and the playful.

“That wasn't my intention, Gwen.”

“Come in”, she finally says, letting the man pass through the door and shutting it once he’s inside.

“I don’t have much time. I have a case and I can’t stay away from the precinct for too much.”

She nods, walking to her kitchen and avoiding the man’s studying gaze. He knows. She can feel it. He knows everything that has happened between her and Blake Shelton.

“What do you want me to say?”, she snaps after long seconds of tense silence. “I can’t have anything with him, Roy. I just can’t. He is my husband’s killer. End of the story.”

“He’s not.”

“Oh my god, he-“

“He’s out. We caught the killer. The real one. The man confessed after only four minutes in the interrogation room”, he interrupts her quickly, making her gasp and open her eyes in shock.

“Wha- What? You are kidding, right?” He just shakes his head in front of her big, brown eyes. “He…”

“I’m not saying you should just be friends with the man and forgive everything that has happened. But, trust me, he doesn't deserve all the things you told him.”

The man’s words are welcomed by a stunned silence and Roy finds himself taking a step forward, opening his arms. Gwen doesn't even look at him, she just crushes against his chest, grabbing his shirt with her hands and letting the loud sobs shake her fragile body.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, I know”, he murmurs softly, “but he has been too. You are the only one who can understand him right now. You lost your husband, he lost his wife and part of his life. You can help each other.”

“Why is he like this?”, she asks between shaky breaths, “Why do we care about him so much?”

“Because he’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”

She nods against the man’s chest, wiping the tears away from her cheeks with a hand. “I never meant anything I told him”, she admits shyly, hiding her face against the fabric of the detective’s shirt.

“I know. I do. But I don’t think he does.”

“He’ll never forgive me.”

“Maybe”, the man smiles at her, “but trying costs nothing, right?”

She nods, looking a bit more confident. “Right.”

 

 

That night, he decides to take a walk and he ends up in front of his favorite place of the little village. He smiles at the sight of the old signboard, whispering the name of the bar out loud, like wanting to memorize them again, like he hasn’t spent every night of his youth in that place.

The rich smell of wood and beer fills his nose once he steps inside, bringing old and happy memories back in his mind.

“Shelton? Is that you?”

A raspy voice calls him from behind the counter, and he smiles again, already knowing who has just called him. He sits on a stool and looks at the man in front of him, nodding slowly but with fierce.

“Man, I was so scared. What the hell happened? We were all concerned here”, the man’s thick accent is music for the country singer’s ears.

“Just a little mistake, Jo, it’s over now, I’m here.”

“And these old eyes are so happy to see you! Here, it’s on the house”, the bartender says happily, passing a beer to Blake. “Cheers.”

After all, he spends a nice night. His mind can finally run free between the old tables of the bar, the pleasant music that fills the big room and the small talks he has here and there, with people he hasn't seen in ages or just with someone that shows him their concern.

He was expecting everyone to know about what had happened, but he surely hadn’t expected all this… caring. Just knowing that there are people who really care about him, who look at him in the eyes while he talks, who touch his arm just to show him some comfort, makes his heart warm with joy.

At some point during the night, he sees a blond woman ordering a drink and his heart stops. He was doing so fine, thinking about everything but Gwen… until that woman had entered the bar. He hates it, hates the different kind of emotions he can still feel inside of his chest just at the sight of long blond hair.

And yes, maybe he hates her too. He does. Because she hurt him, she kicked the only pieces of his heart that had remained untouched until her harsh words had hit his face like slaps. He doesn't know why a woman he barely knows keeps invading his thoughts like she already owns his mind. He knows so little about her, and yet… she’s there, constantly, around him, present in everything he does, looking at him every time he sips on his beer or he greets someone.

He needs to let her go, to close the hideous chapter of his life that his months in prison have been. And she’s part of that chapter, she’s part of that bad experience. And like he already forgot the name of the man who used to share the cell with him, he needs to forget hers too. To erase the memory of her once for all.

He decides to go home in the same moment a tall guy yells his name, holding a guitar towards him. He gasps a little, eyeing the instrument with panicked guys. “C’mon guys”, he smiles awkwardly, “I don’t think people want me to annoy them with my music.”

The man frowns at him before laughing out loud, causing someone else to chuckle as well. “We all love your music, Shelton! Get on the stage!”

He takes the guitar in his shaky hands, slowly walking towards the little stage that’s looking at him like it wants to eat him. He hasn't played in a while and the sense of discourage that’s filling his limbs, makes big drops of sweat run through his temples. He takes two deep breathes before sitting on the chair and facing the little audience, full of people that look at him expectantly.

He presses his fingers against the rough strings of the guitar while he moves his other hand against them, listening to the first notes coming out from the guitar sweetly. He smiles a little, finally regaining some confidence back.

It happens when he opens his mouth to sing the first words of the songs. The words are there, on the back of his throat, he can feel them, he’s ready to let them out, but they just won’t come. They stay there, deep inside of his mouth, hiding from everyone. He shakes his head slightly, trying again. Still nothing. He stops playing, coughing a little, trying to understand what’s wrong. He tries to speak, murmuring something under his breath and he notices with some relief that his voice is still there.

But he can’t sing. He tries, again and again, ignoring the pain in his chest that steals his breath away. He needs to sing. Singing is his life. He needs to…

Leave.

He quickly gets up, avoiding the curious looks that everyone is giving him. He gives the guitar back to the first man he sees, before running out of the saloon.

Once he’s home, alone in his room and away from people’s ears, he tries again. His throat hurts, his eyes fill with tears, his hands start shaking.

He can’t sing. He doesn’t know who, or what, but there’s something that doesn’t let him sing. Maybe his brain, maybe his soul, maybe something stronger than him that he can’t control. But there’s something, something that prevents him from doing the only thing that can make him feel good.

He cries, alone in the dark, for hours.

He’s not Blake Shelton, the country singer, anymore. He’s just Blake.

And he never liked Blake.

 

 

“Blake, darling, there’s a lovely woman waiting for you outside!”

He’s helping his stepdad in the kitchen when his mother’s voice makes him freeze in place. The man in front of him looks at him with concern, furrowing his eyebrows.

Blake shakes his head and slowly gets up from his spot on the floor, rubbing his hands against the harsh cotton of his jeans to wipe the dirt away.

When he opens the door of the big house and sees her, a by now familiar wave of sickness fills his senses, making him gasp for air.

She hasn't changed, not really. Her hair is high in a ponytail that swings a the rhythm of the light wind. Her eyes are brown and big and he can read them like an open book.

She opens her perfect mouth but nothing comes out. He stays there, studying her, fighting a silent battle inside of his head. He doesn't want to be mean, or rude, he just wants to know what the hell she is doing there, in his property, after months of silence, after everything she has told him months ago.

“I have nothing to tell you”, he says then, mentally slapping himself because he had wanted to say something else, to not sound so weak, so fragile, but this is what she does to him, this is how she reduces him only after a few seconds spent together.

“I have.”

He briefly looks at the sky, exhaling deeply before shaking his head. “Gwen…”

“I want to apologize, Blake”, she murmurs, sounding as tired and sad as he’s feeling.

“It’s easy now, isn’t it? I begged you for months, Gwen. I thought you believed me. But you only played with my feelings, like everyone does, right? Is it easy? Is it easy to look at me and lie right in front of my eyes? Why is it so easy, Gwen?”

“Blake, it’s not like that”, she says between the sobs. “I thought… I thought you had killed him.”

“I told you infinite times it wasn’t me!”, he shouts, breaking the peaceful silence around them with his strong voice.

She looks smaller in front of him now, like she is trying to protect herself from him, from his words, by trying to hide her body from his eyes. But she can’t hide, she can’t disappear, and he has every right to shout at her like he just did.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did”, he says, gentler, trying to not get his mother’s attention by yelling another time. He needs to stay calm. And he needs to send her away. To ask her to let him be free. Because he may be not in prison anymore, but he still feels like he’s living in a cage. Or, at least, she makes him feel like that. “You have to let me go, Gwen.”

“W- What?”

He has taken some steps towards her without even realizing it and now he can clearly see the tears wetting her cheeks. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know how you found me, I don’t know who told you I was out. I don’t care. Thank you for coming here, for taking a flight or whatever just to ask for forgiveness. I appreciate it. And I forgive you. I swear. But now, please, you have to let me go. For real.”

She looks at him like he’s crazy. And maybe he is, that’s why he caresses her cheek with shaky fingers. Just to touch her soft skin, just to feel her shudder against his fingertips. One last time. “I didn’t want… I don’t want to…”

“You are an amazing woman, you have a beautiful son. You need to keep living your life. But you also need to let me live mine.”

“Blake…”

He smiles at her, feeling stronger than ever. “I listened to some of your old songs. You have a beautiful voice, you and your group were doing a good job.”

“What does this mean? Are you okay, Blake?”

“I am. And I want you to be too. But away from me.”

She shakes her head, taking his hand in hers and holding it tight. “I don’t want this, Blake. I want to get to know you better. I want to show you who I really am. That I’m not that woman who called you names and hurt you while you were in prison.”

He smiles sadly, retracting his hand. “It’s not that easy.”

“But it could be!”

She is literally begging him, pleading him to give her another opportunity. The last one.

“Gwen…”

“Here”, she says suddenly, looking for something in the pocket of her jacket. He recognizes the little paper in the exact moment she holds it in front of his eyes, quickly opening it and showing him his own words.

“Do you remember this? You wrote it. I’ve been reading it every night, Blake. Every night. And this phrase, my favorite one, has to mean something.”

“Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me”, he murmurs in front of her expectantly eyes, smiling a little at the memory of his own song. “I can’t sing anymore”, he confesses suddenly, the smile disappearing from his face in a second. “I tried and I tried. The words won’t come out. I’m over, Gwen.”

“I can help you”, she is crying, “I can be the one that saves you. But you have to save me too.”

They hit his heart, her words, making his breath stop for long seconds, making his head spin with the sudden loss of oxygen.

“Gwen.”

“I won’t hurt you again, I swear.”

He keeps shaking his head, not quite believing her. But his heart… his heart just wants him to hold her little body in his arms right now. To kiss her wet cheeks and wipe the tears away from her delicate skin.

“I told you, I forgave you. But I can’t, Gwen. I can’t. It has to end here. This… us… I can’t.”

She bends her head, looking at the ground under her feet. “Forgiving is easy, but forgetting is not.”

Those seven words are barely audible words but he hears them. “What?”

She looks back at him. “My gram used to say that. You can forgive me, of course you can. And you did. But you won’t forget. You’ll never forget, right? Every time you see me, you’ll think about what I did. And that breaks my heart, Blake. Because I’m not like that. And I want you to see the real me. Because I… really care about you.”

He exhales, finally letting his heart win. “I do too.”

She nods, smiling a little. “You may have forgiven me… but I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you.”

“I just need…”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, whatever you need”, she interrupts him, playing with her fingers nervously. “I’ll wait… I’ll… I’ll stay here, okay? My son is with my mum and I…”

“I’ll call you”, he says, wanting to save her from her own rambling.

She nods, smiling grateful. After giving him a little card with her number on it, she turns to leave, stopping suddenly to say something. She looks at him shiny, biting her bottom lip. “I thought a lot about the meaning of Wonderwall. Or at least, about the meaning you wanted it to have. And to your eyes, I am, or at least, I was, both freedom and prison, right? I was there, but at the same time I wasn’t. And I gave you hope. But at the same time I didn’t”, she takes a deep breath, finding herself panting a little after her little speech. “I wish I did, Blake. I wish I was only freedom for you. I want to be your Wonderwall.”

She walks away after that, leaving him there, in silence, staring at her back.

He doesn't know how many seconds, minutes, go by, but when he’s brought back to earth, he smiles a little, feeling a rush of warm feelings running through his whole body. He looks at the card between his fingers and sighs.

She already is his Wonderwall.

  
  



End file.
